


Of the Relative Correlation Between One Person’s Elbows And Another’s Happiness

by Symmet



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cinnamon Roll, Do I ever write fluff?, Fluff, For COle I will write fluff forever and always, For Cole, TOO GOOD, Too pure for this world, my sweet sweet spirit child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Symmet/pseuds/Symmet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the conversations between one spirit of Compassion and one Seeker of Truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of the Relative Correlation Between One Person’s Elbows And Another’s Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired completely and utterly by this conversation:
> 
> Cole: Your elbow made him smile.  
> Cassandra: Who are you talking about?  
> Cole: The blacksmith's apprentice. He repaired the armor. He was too shy to ask if you were satisfied.  
> Cole: He saw you smile as you tested the joint. It made him happy.  
> Cassandra: It was fine work. I will remember to thank him when we are back at Skyhold.  
> Cole: My elbows don't make anyone smile.
> 
> Drew a Cover:  
> [](http://s1295.photobucket.com/user/arlanengin/media/Moon%20And%20Sun_zpse6qx4mbr.png.html)
> 
>  

She listens to them talk and how it makes her smile to herself! Cassandra, who distrusted magic and months ago would have never wanted anything to do with Cole. They were only engaging in a simple conversation - but the undertones were sweet enough to make her teeth ache. So the Seeker of Truth had found what she sought.

One spirit was not so bad after all.

And if Cassandra could learn to trust - to care for - one?

Well it made all the difference when Lavellan thought about the others.

"My elbows don't make anyone smile."

_Oh, Cole._

When they get back to Skyhold, worn but cheerful about the amount of work they were able to complete, it is not Cassandra she seeks out. No, she would be easy to find if she looked - not that she has to. True to her word, the warrior immediately heads off to find the Blacksmith's apprentice once they have unloaded properly. Solas slinks off, probably to check that Sera has not drawn halla and phalluses in his books again, but possibly, she thinks fondly, to simply crawl into a blanket and sleep for the next week or so.

No, the other two would be very easy to find if she was looking for them.

But the moment they stepped onto the grounds, he is gone, whisking away to touch people's pain - compelled to gently untangle their hurts and heartbreaks.

And then she is swarmed by her Advisors, and there goes any attempt at finding him soon.

But eventually she is all caught up, and they can't find anymore errant papers that need her signature or stamp, anymore reports of this or that dignitary to watch out for, any more letters from agents on this or that problem she needs to keep any eye out for, and one by one they leave until she is at least free to seek out one someone, herself.

Now it takes a little more wit, a little more scrutiny to find him. He does not stand stark and still against the horizon anymore. 

She remembers when she first found him at Haven.

 

_Standing across from the merchant Seggrit, silhouette so obvious against the cold watery light, yet completely unnoticed by all. She supposes he liked to watch them barter and bargain. To listen to the soft sighs and tight mournful notes of their souls when they unwillingly, begrudgingly, almost spitefully hand over those coins._

_She walked up to him._

_“I like the way you think.” He said, earnest, somber, “Lilting, lifting, longing in rhyme. Everyone whispers that you used to be a bard before, sifting, stealing, singing softly, storms and starlight. They say you stopped. How do you stop singing?"_

_She had laughed, peering under the shade of his hat._

_“You don’t, not really.” She replied, smiling, “And I was only a bard in a manner of speaking.”_

_“Which manner?” He wondered._

_“The Dalish kind, I suppose.” She said thoughtfully._

_Neither actually saw Solas watching, eyes sharp, apprehensive. Cole felt him - felt the focus, the fragments of fear. He needn’t have worried._

_Cole didn't have to tell him that, in the end, though._

_He only had to hear her laughter rise up clear and charmed to know the spirit of Compassion would be well received._

 

Now she is stepping into the tavern.

Winks at Maryden as she does - the bard nods back, but doesn’t halt her song. They have a sort of knowing between them, softer kinds than the Orlesian brand of espionage. 

Bards would never ask that of each other.

Up a flight, then another - and another after that. The voices waft, then fade, but linger in the background, a clatter of plates, the thunk of mugs against wood table tops, a hum of conversation. In its own way, a comfort. 

But nothing quite like what could be found above.

She turns towards a vacant corner.

“Hello.” his voice says, and then it is not empty anymore.

There are some more stairs - her back is to them. They lead out of the building, into the day and onto the battlements. She does not notice the open door, dusky light cutting through the gloom. A rogue with her crafty, careful eyes on a far more exciting prize. She does not see Solas standing there, stopped at the sound of her voice. He had been about to leave, simply talking to Cole, murmurs and memories he would not share with anyone else. He pauses - turns back to see her walking towards Cole.

What had she said once about the spirit of Compassion?

"He has a terrible habit of making me smile.” Cole dutifully repeats, gaze on her but thoughts belonging to Solas.

She beamed, clapping her hands, “Which really, you can only infer one thing from."

“It makes you happy to see me.” Cole murmurs, and though he already knows it, it always seems to catch him by surprise.

“So it does.” She agrees, “And well now!”

She steps up to him, grinning up at her somber spirit boy. They have not noticed the mage that stands at the doorway, plans of stepping out forgotten.

She grabs one of his arms to inspect it.

“My goodness what a fine elbow this is!” She says in delight.

He looks down at the elbow in question, covered by a patched sleeve.

Then she makes a noise of shock and lifts up the other, “And this one! I’ve never seen a finer elbow in all my life!”

"Oh."

She lets his arms fall so that his hands are in hers, tilting her head up at him.

“I wonder,” She says softly, “I don’t suppose you know, but if _all_ of you makes me smile…”

“My elbows make you smile, too.” Cole agrees.

Solas suddenly recalls the conversation the spirit and Seeker had shared as they made their return.

“So they must.” She agreed.

“Thank you.” Cole says softly.

“No, Cole, thank you.” She says, liflting each hand to press a chaste kiss to both.

At the doorway, Solas supposes she has a terrible habit of making him smile as well.

He wonders what that means for her elbows.

**Author's Note:**

> _Solas Greatly Approves_


End file.
